


Elf on the Record Store Shelf

by indevan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Exes, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indevan/pseuds/indevan
Summary: Felix and Sylvain broke up back in college, but--in their own ways--have always carried a torch for one another.  Their lingering emotions come to a head in the holiday season when Felix has to deal with both his distaste for the omnipresent pomp of Christmas and how the dorky elf costume Sylvain has to wear for his job at a department store fits him a bit too well
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53
Collections: Sylvix Advent Calendar





	Elf on the Record Store Shelf

**Author's Note:**

> this was an incredibly fun project to work on! art is by the incredible [erin](https://twitter.com/14_7psia)

Felix could hear strains of Brian Eno through the door of the shop and exhaled a sigh of relief. His breath puffed out visibly as he did as if it agreed with him. November wasn’t even fully over yet and he could hear Christmas music blaring everywhere he turned. Even in public restrooms--he couldn’t take a crap without hearing about Santa Claus coming down Santa Claus Lane. It was excruciating. Hearing his brother’s seventies glam rock tastes was a welcome reprieve.

He fished in his keys out of the pocket of his corduroy coat and fit the right one into the lock. Stepping inside, Felix was sure to lock the door behind him. The record shop didn’t open until eleven and he wasn’t about to let any annoying hipsters or vinyl-heads in early. Yes, he was glad that the resurgence of vinyl in popularity kept his brother’s vintage record shop open far past its expiration date, but that didn’t mean that Felix had to like the clientele. Granted, he also didn’t like the old timers who came in to bitch and moan about the youth of today and the state of the music industry.

Glenn was where he figured that he would be: behind the counter, scribbling things down on a pad of paper. He didn’t seem to care about his close proximity to his stereo that was currently blaring “Ladytron,” but Glenn was always like that. He listened to his music cranked to a pain pitch. It made Felix wonder how he didn’t have tinnitus or something similar with how many shows he went to and how loud he listened to his music. It drove their father up the wall when they were younger, because he could always hear Glenn’s music through his headphones. Glenn’s reasoning was that good music was meant to be played loud. Felix thought that there was a difference between loud and  _ LOUD. _

“Hey.”

Felix didn’t bother raising his voice to be heard above the music. Somehow, inexplicably, Glenn was always able to hear him. He had to have superhuman hearing like Wolverine or someone, Felix reckoned. That all the damage he took over the years didn’t do anything to it. Felix, meanwhile, had gotten incredibly ill one year over Christmas and since then, his hearing was always a bit weird and his ears always popped whenever he yawned or swallowed.

He wasn’t at all jealous at his brother’s hound-like sense of hearing. Not at all.

“Hey, Fee,” he replied without even looking up. “Got a bunch of vintage Christmas records in. I know you’ve been wanting to go through them.”

Felix pulled a face. He didn’t consider himself a Scrooge or a Grinch (although certain friends--Ingrid--would say otherwise), but he was not a fan of Christmas. He didn’t have any particular affection towards any major holiday. Sylvain loved Halloween because it played to his “if I keep joking about death and dying, people will never realize I’m really obsessed with it” sensibilities. Felix hadn’t minded it until he and Sylvain broke up on Halloween back in college and he now had to live with the memory of dumping who he once thought was the love of his life while dressed as an order of McDonalds fries. Somehow wearing a cardboard box filled with yellow pool noodles lessened the impact of his dramatic exit.

Dimitri loved Easter because he liked pastels and had been way too into stations of the cross in Catholic school. Felix, however, had grown up with Glenn telling him horror stories about the Easter bunny.

So many of his friends were “Christmas People.” Felix loathed that type with the tinsel-covered sweaters that turned ugly sweaters from fun vintage finds to mass marketed bullshit covered in Star Wars logos. The obnoxious lights and decorations and droning, repetitive music. He did not give a shit about Christmas shoes or skating on the river or whatever all Mariah Carey wanted for Christmas.

So maybe Ingrid was right and he was a bit of a Grinch. Whatever.

Felix peered over the counter to see the boxes Glenn was talking about. There were two total and he could see the top of Andy Williams’s head in one and something written in swirling Christmas font on the other complete with snow.

“Just alphabetize them and stick the boxes on the table I put near the door.”

Glenn pointed with his pen towards a table set in the open space they had at the front of the shop. It was their Specials table: painted black and covered in different stickers. Sometimes records were put on little stands to showcase staff picks or artist features. That Glenn was just having him organize the record boxes without putting any out showed that his brother cared just as much about the holiday season as he did.

Felix dumped his coat behind the counter and crouched down to start sorting the first box.

“Can you at least turn the music down?” he asked.

Glenn tossed a smirk over his shoulder.

“If my music’s too loud, you’re too old.”

A scowl creased Felix’s features before that sentence was even fully out of his brother’s mouth.

“Shut up, Glenn.”

\--

All things considered, Sylvain had had worse jobs. Ever since he disinherited himself from his family’s money two years ago, he had been known to be the one in his friend’s group with an assorted collection of odd jobs he worked at any given time. He was a millennial Cosmo Kramer and a lovable scamp. At least, that was how he liked to imagine himself.

The truth was a bit more complicated but his friends loved him anyway. Most of the time.

Dedue, for instance, was kind enough to get him a steady job at the coffee shop and bakery where he was a manager. Other jobs he managed were seasonal deals: a job at a pop-up Halloween store, retail help at a big department store. Sometimes he did some things online or picked up a shift here or there at the record shop Glenn owned. He kept himself afloat, at least, and could stay in his tiny, rent-controlled apartment that looked more like one of those displays at IKEA than a proper living space.

This, though, was new.

Sylvain regarded himself in the smudged full length mirror in the locker-lined closet that constituted his break space. Fluorescent lights never did anyone any favors, but they  _ did _ manage to pick up on the glitter he had stuck to the tops of his cheeks.

His outfit consisted of a green velour tunic whose hem landed somewhere on his mid-thighs. A matching, pointed hat replete with jingle bells was pinned into his hair. His legs were wrapped in white and red striped tights that made them look like two long candy canes. He  _ was _ admittedly impressed with the fact that they managed to have jingle bell elf booties in a size fourteen.

Sylvain slid the ears they had given him over his own ears, glad that they were meant to hang on his ear almost naturally and weren’t the latex ones that required spirit gum.

He cracked up at his reflection because--what else could he do? He was a department store elf. He was going to spend the next month and a half walking kids over to Santa. But, still. He had had way worse jobs. This wasn’t even the first one where he had had to wear a costume. Shortly after he cut himself off, Sylvain had gotten a job as one of those mascot characters that wandered around downtown and took pictures with tourists for tips. He hadn’t even gotten to be Captain America or anyone--no. Sylvain had had to settle on wearing a sad Elmo costume that had clearly been through its fair share of rain and snow. At least his elf costume smelled like detergent and not like a wet dog.

Sylvain straightened his elf cap and jingled his way out of the break area.

Pop covers of Christmas standards played over the speakers as he made his way over the polished tile floors to the toy section where Santa’s throne was set up. Already, children and their parents were lined up by the velvet ropes, waiting for the big man to appear. This was a pretty fancy, upscale department store and he was certain that some of these kids were accompanied by a nanny or au pair. He nearly snorted at himself. Right. Like he could get any action when he looked like he made cookies in the hollow of a tree.

Non-costumed staff was handling the queue so all he had to do was draw up next to a poor, harried employee and plaster a big smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said brightly. “Who’s ready to meet Santa?”

Cheers erupted from the kids in line. Sylvain put both hands on his hips and widened his grin. He could totally do this.

\--

Sylvain definitely couldn’t do this. He dragged his jingle-jangling feet behind him as he exited the store, too exhausted to put back on his actual clothes. He managed only to tug his leather jacket on over his elf outfit before he left.

He was getting too old, he reckoned. Twenty-five was too old to be on your feet in a pair of elf shoes with zero arch support.

He figured that he ought to, at the very least, switch his shoes on the metro home, but there were no seats and so he was stuck there looking like a delinquent elf in his jacket and elven ensemble, hopping from foot to foot and wincing in pain. Mercifully, the other passengers didn’t really pay him any mind, which was a perk--he supposed--to living in this city.

Sylvain lived in what the city referred to as the “arts district,” which was about as far from the cold, steamy capitalist demagogue where he was currently employed. It retained some kind of dirty, downtown charm that he favored and he could afford his postage stamp-sized apartment easily. Nearly easily.

He knew that his feet--his aching, sore, improperly supported feet--should make their way towards his apartment building, but instead Sylvain found himself walking towards the record shop. Despite his tired, drained, very decidedly unjolly appearance, Sylvain wanted to see Felix. He knew that being in this elf outfit would get him to make that face of his when he was trying to remain grumpy, but instead was trying to hold back laughter. Felix’s smiles and laughter were fairly hard to get these days, so Sylvain took it where he could. Especially in the years since they broke up. Each smile or laugh sent a little jolt to his heart. Sylvain didn’t blame Felix for breaking up with him, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t harbor hope that one day that they’d get back together.

Sylvain didn’t prescribe to romantic, sappy nonsense typically, but he sometimes felt like he and Felix were truly meant to be--for whatever that was worth.

He reached the record shop and threw the door open. ELO blared from the at work stereo, which meant that Glenn was somewhere in the building. Glenn was twenty-eight going on fifty with his taste that alternated between seventies glam and what could only be described as dad rock. Felix, though, was right inside the door. He was setting out milk crates full of records that appeared to be Christmas albums. He turned towards the door, alerted by the cold breeze coming in if not the force with which it was opened.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Felix demanded.

And there was the face. His lips rolled in and his brow drew down and Sylvain could see his throat working up and down to suppress a laugh.

“Hello to you, too, Fee.”

Felix shook his head at him.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or vomit.”

At the end of his words, Sylvain caught the slight bubble of a giggle and suddenly his feet didn’t seem to hurt as badly. He grinned at Felix as the song blared on the stereo.

_ Do ya do ya want my love… _

\--

Felix leaned on the counter of the record shop and glared out the window. It was snowing outside, white now but sure to be grayish brown slush within moments of hitting the ground. It clumped on the street in gross, filthy heaps and made his commute to and from his apartment harder.

He reached over to the stereo to turn up his music. Decidedly  _ not _ Christmas music. Felix tried to avoid it where he could, but it was everywhere. He brought this up to Glenn who just crooned, “You’re a mean one, Mr. Fraldarius,” which prompted Felix to chuck a pad of Post-Its at his head. This then led, of course, to Glenn asking if he was going to “go all  _ Silent Night, Deadly Night” _ on him and Felix was  _ so glad _ that he had such a clever and funny older brother.

And of course all of his misgivings for the season had to be condensed in the overly festive shape of Sylvain. More than once in the month since he had started that department store job, he had come into the record shop in his hideous elf outfit. Sometimes he wore only bits of his: his boots and leather jacket over it, or swapped his elf hat for his typical black knit one, but he was always in  _ some _ part of it.

Felix didn’t want to admit, even to himself, that he was thinking about Sylvain more than he ought to. Specifically Sylvain in...that outfit. It really did leave nothing to the imagination. When he had broken up with Sylvain, he had been sure that he made the right decision. Things between them were going sour. Felix was stressed and angry about school, Sylvain was careening into destructive behaviors. They were different now, sure, but probably too different to try again. Felix typically wasn’t willing to entertain it. His life was plenty full with...his job, being teased by his brother, and going to the gym five days a week. He didn’t need anything or anyone else. Least of all his ex-boyfriend.

Yet, he couldn’t get the image of Sylvain in that outfit out of his head. It was probably the tights. The tunic barely covered the hump of his ass and those tights...well, they were  _ tights. _ He had seen Sylvain in some fairly tight jeans over the years but there was a difference between denim and nylon.

Felix fanned himself with one hand, suddenly hot. He reached under the counter for his open can of Monster, but it was already tepid and lukewarm. He nearly spit it out. Damn.

\--

“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas...everywhere you go…” Sylvain nearly snapped his head up. He hadn’t realized he was singing along to the Christmas playlist that Ashe had hooked up to play over the speakers of the coffee shop.

He stared at his warped reflection in the espresso machine whose spigot he was currently cleaning, wondering who he had become. It had to be the elf job rubbing off on him.

“You’ve got a nice voice, Sylvain!”

Ashe with his doberman hearing, of course heard him. He walked by carrying bags of ground coffee to put on display. Ashe was part of the reason Sylvain had this job--his only one that could be considered remotely steady. Dedue was the manager and Ashe was a longtime employee and so they both vouched for him. He was a bit glad, though, that Dedue wasn’t also on the clock today. He seemed taciturn and quiet, but that facade hid a wicked, dry sense of humor and Sylvain knew that he wouldn’t let his singing Christmas songs slide.

“Do I?”

“Yeah. Very mid-2000s pop punk.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” he said. “I try not to sing through my nose.”

Ashe made a snuffling noise to try and suppress a laugh.

“Good point. Maybe less Fall Out Boy, more MCR.”

“I’ll take it. I was very into MCR back in the day, you know.”

Ashe blinked pale green eyes at him once and then twice.

“I would not have guessed that by looking at you,” he said flatly. It was an attempt at deadpan, but Ashe was never very good at it. Sylvain appreciated the effort, though. Not everyone could be a master of it like Dedue.

The song on the stereo faded and the next holly jolly number came on next. The Ronettes version of “Sleigh Ride.” Sylvain, without meaning to, began humming again. He shook his head. Definitely the elf job. He had always heard these songs every holiday--well, how could he escape them?--but he hadn’t really given them a full listen. Six to eight hours in fluorescent hell was letting them seep into his brain. Sylvain wasn’t sure how to feel about that, but he _ was _ certain that they would annoy the shit out of Felix.

He would have to keep that in mind next time he saw him.

\--

There was no escaping it. Felix wasn’t sure which circle of hell the constant, merry barrage of Christmas music was a part of, but he knew he was in it. He also knew, deep down, that he was overreacting to it all, but it was far easier to dwell on petty annoyances than his current close proximity to Sylvain.

He was regaling the table with some story about how a kid peed all over the department store Santa and ended up getting some on the other elf helper so Sylvain was stuck entertaining an irate line of people for twenty minutes while they figured out what to do.

“I felt like a fucking stand-up comedian. ‘What’s the deal with Christmas?’ and all that.” He laughed and tipped his bottle towards his mouth.

It was rare for all eight of his college friends to be together in one place. Felix should have been happy, but he was too aware of Sylvain next to him and how the dim and dingy lights of their favorite dive bar were catching the bits of elven glitter that still clung to his cheekbones.

“Oh, that sounds just awful,” Mercedes said.

Felix glanced towards her after she spoke and had to admit that part of why he was feeling some type of way about Sylvain was because of the flagrant display of coupledom around him. Mercedes was curled up as close to Dedue as she could with them being on separate chairs, one arm threaded through his as she drank from a chipped mug full of spiked cider. On Sylvain’s other side, Ashe was sitting on Dimitri’s lap. Their usual eight top was occupied so they had had to settle for a six top. Ingrid had dragged over one chair, but there wasn’t another available so Ashe had just perched on his boyfriend’s lap while they shared one pint of Guinness. It was so cute, Felix wanted to puke.

“Ohhh, body fluid stuff is the wooorst,” Annette said, shuddering.

“Right?” Sylvain said with a shake of his head. “But, at least I could leave. If it happens to you, you kinda can’t?”

She laughed. “Right?”

Annette’s job as a flight attendant was why they found it hard to all gather together. It was also why their bar snacks for the evening included several packs of mini pretzels. Felix didn’t say it, but he liked these get-togethers. He had known Dimitri, Ingrid, and Sylvain his entire life, it felt like, but the others he met in college. Since graduation, it was harder and harder to get everyone together. Sylvain, Dedue, and Ashe worked together, at least, and Dimitri came in every now and then to help out at the store, but he rarely saw the girls. Even Ingrid. She wasn’t even in the city anymore. She was somewhere out in the outlying suburbs, an alien and distant planet that Felix couldn’t even imagine.

“Who wants another round?” Ingrid asked. She was already standing up and adjusting her flannel shirt from where it had gotten bunched up under her arms from sitting.

“Your treat?” Sylvain asked, arching a brow. “I’m definitely down.”

There was a murmur of agreement across the table. Even from Ashe and Dimitri, who were only about halfway through their shared pint.

“Sure. But I’m picking.”

Felix didn’t care. One consistent thing about Ingrid was that she knew her beer. She kept picking as the night wore on and the bags of pretzels were torn open and devoured. At one point, someone put in an order for potato skins--because the bar’s food menu hadn’t been updated since some time in the mid nineties--most of which was eaten by Ashe and Dimitri, eating each one like Lady and the Tramp as if they were in some sick advertisement for TGI Fridays. Felix fought back a gag and grabbed his bottle of beer. On one hand, he knew college had not been kind to Dimitri’s mental state and he was glad that his childhood friend had a good relationship, but on the other hand, there was only so much schmaltz he could take. Between them and the hiccuping, staticky rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock” playing above them, he felt like he might actually puke this time.

“You good, Fee?”

Was he? He wasn’t drunk, but everything was getting soft and hazy, which meant that he was on his  _ way _ to being drunk. He also had had a bit too much of witnessing couples.

“I’m going to go home,” he said.

“I’ll walk you.”

He wasn’t sure why Sylvain volunteered nor was he sure how he felt about it. Felix nodded.

“Free country.”

Sylvain laughed. Together, they rose from the table and sorted their hats and scarves and coats. Felix knew the rest of the table was looking at them expectantly and he fought the urge to flip the lot of them off.

“C’mon.”

Sylvain smiled in that easygoing manner of his and Felix felt his heart lurch. It had to be the beer--or. Felix chewed his lip. Or.

Or he still had feelings for Sylvain.

Either way, he was certain that he was going to take  _ that _ to the grave.

\--

It had become routine for Sylvain to trudge out of the department store after his last set of the day while dragging his feet. His throat was dry and his cheeks ached from smiling constantly. It didn’t help that the guy playing Santa apparently did so professionally and  _ really _ got into the act, going so far as giving all the elf employees different elven names. Sylvain was now stuck having to answer to the name “Tinsel” in addition to everything else.

Still, he still wouldn’t consider it his worst job. He got to flirt with nannies and see cute little kids smile. It just  _ hurt _ to be on his feet. Sylvain had started taking the time to switch to his regular shoes after shifts because he was certain that he was destroying his arches--not to mention freezing his toes--trying to walk in those elf slippers.

Santa left at six promptly (to the anger of harried-looking mothers everywhere who were pissed that they got in line too late) to return to the North Pole so it was only just getting dark as Sylvain left. He had walked past the poor manager getting harangued by some polished woman with sculpted hair screeching about how there was less than a week until Christmas and her little Braddelyn or whoever--Sylvain didn’t catch the name, but he could assume--needed to get a picture with Santa.

By the time he got off at his stop, it had begun to snow and Sylvain was doubly glad that he had switched to his waterproof boots. He squinted up at the streetlights, at the way the snow swirled in the watery, yellow light, light and ethereal before it became the nasty city slush he knew and loved.

His mind drifted to Felix, probably stubbornly refusing to play Christmas music at the record shop while Glenn paraded about in increasingly uglier and uglier Christmas sweaters as the big day drew nearer.

Sylvain figured that he ought to drop in. He hadn’t seen Felix since he had escorted him home after that night at the bar. When they were on the subway, Felix, in his loose-limbed inebriation--not drunk, he knew Felix drunk--had grabbed onto his sleeve as they stood rather than holding onto a pole or bar above and, at one point, licked his thumb and wiped at the stray glitter on Sylvain’s face. That would have been somehow cute if he hadn’t underestimated how much saliva he would produce and a whole clear string of drool had followed his thumb towards Sylvain’s cheek.

It was times like that where he thought that the two of them might still have a shot. He still stubbornly held a torch for Felix even in his heart of hearts.

He took a detour to the coffee shop where Ashe had opted to play Chris Farren’s Christmas album, which was a welcome reprieve from what was piped in overhead at the department store. That music was starting to get to him, he reckoned. He had been having dreams involving Mariah Carey--and not the fun kind.

Ashe himself was behind the counter, fiddling with the display of wrapped holiday-themed cookies.

“Hey, welcome to Wildflower Coff--oh, wow!” Ashe’s eyes went wide. “I hadn’t seen the whole ensemble yet.”

Before Sylvain could say anything, he disappeared through the swinging metal door and into the kitchen.

“Dedue! You have to get out here!”

He approached the counter and then went behind it to begin fixing his and Felix’s coffees. The manager on duty today was obviously Dedue, who didn’t care if Sylvain was messing around off the clock. The other manager didn’t care too much either, but he was a bit sore after the two of them made out at a co-worker’s birthday party at a karaoke bar and Sylvain hadn’t called him back.

“You could have at least taken the ears off,” Dedue said from behind him.

Sylvain looked up from where he was grabbing the to-go cups.

“Are they still on? Oops. They’ve become such a part of me, I didn’t notice.”

He set the cups down and removed the ears before safely zipping them into his black knapsack.

“I personally like the leather jacket,” Ashe said cheekily.

“The Doc Martens do it for me.”

Sylvain put his hands on his hips and struck a model pose.

“Get a good look. Five more days and Tinsel the elf goes back to the North Pole for good.”

“Tinsel?”

Ashe and Dedue exchanged a bemused look.

“I didn’t name myself. Santa himself bestowed all of us with names.”

“I figured,” Dedue said. “I shudder to think what you would come up with yourself.”

He tried to make himself look offended, but--Dedue had a point. Instead, Sylvain finished fixing two coffees and left them to their merriment. He wanted to get these to the record shop before they got too cold.

The area they lived in always felt a bit compact for being part of the larger city. Everywhere his friends were was within easy walking distance. It was what made Ingrid’s move all the more dramatic. Even Annette, who jetted all over the world, had a permanent address in the same apartment building as Mercedes and Dedue.

Felix sometimes complained about it. He said his world was bigger than this, bigger than a comforting grid, but. He didn’t leave. He stayed here in this neighborhood, a chunk of a borough and an even smaller chunk of the city, with all of them.

Sylvain pushed open the shop door as best as he could with his hands full.

“Coffee delivery!” he announced.

He had to shout to be heard over the volume at which Felix was blasting The Suicide Machiens on the stereo on the counter. At his entrance, Felix looked up at him and actually reached over to turn it down.

“Coffee?”

Felix slithered from behind the counter and came over to him slowly and almost warily. It was as if he were a finicky cat who wasn’t sure if the treats being offered to him were legitimate.

“Cream, no sugar,” he reported, handing it over.

Glenn similarly scuttled out from the back room wearing what could charitably be described as a Christmas sweater. It looked as if someone had eaten a load of candy canes, vomited them up, and then crocheted that vomit together. The garment probably had the sole intent to annoy the hell out of Felix and, judging by the way his lip curled when his brother approached, it was clearly working.

“Sorry, I only have two hands, Glenn. And this one’s for me.” Just to rub it in, Sylvain took a hearty sip of his coffee.

Felix seemed to appreciate it, smirking a bit into the small slit in the lid of his cup as he took another sip.

Glenn let his mouth drop open in an exaggerated gape.

“Wow! Sylvain Jose Gautier. We have known each other for how long--and you show up to  _ my _ store in  _ that _ outfit and don’t bring me coffee?”

He shrugged. Felix looked to be enjoying the whole thing, so he continued with the bit.

“I think I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “I barely even notice the elf bullshit anymore.”

“That’s the spirit, Fee!” Sylvain gave him a wink, which of course earned him a patented Felix eye roll. “By the way, the Fraldarius gremlin coffee crab talk is incredible to behold.”

Glenn and Felix made identical offended faces and Sylvain turned to dash out of the door as fast as he could before he got  _ both _ brothers chasing after him.

\--

_ Closing early for Christmas Eve _

Sylvain had never heard four more beautiful words. They were closing at four so Santa and his elves could “go home early to the North Pole to get ready.” He knew that despite the signage all over the store and around their photo op area that people were going to throw fits, but he didn’t care. All he had to do was make it through one more day and then pose for a commemorative cast photo and he was  _ free. _

There was a cast party the day after the holidays, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to dwell on this job anymore now that he was done with it. At least his costume was his to keep. Sylvain could imagine that the poor sap with his measurements who got this gig next year didn’t want to wear sweat-stained green velour that didn’t like to get clean properly. He also had to announce to his group of friends that he successfully managed to not sleep with any of his co-workers. Sylvain wasn’t sure if it was actual disinterest beyond friendly flirting or due to his feelings for Felix. Granted, he had had residual feelings for Felix ever since they broke up that fateful Halloween. Felix in his fries costume stumbling away and Sylvain, dressed as the sexy Hamburglar, hadn’t been able to run fast enough in his striped go-go shorts to catch up with him. He had let him go.

Those feelings had always lingered and it had never really stopped him before, but. Maybe it was the holidays making him a sap. Or maybe it was how bone-tired he was after every shift that he couldn’t muster more than a smile or a wink at anyone.

Even today with their abbreviated schedule, his lower back throbbed as he bent over to lace up his boots.

_ Ears off, shoes off, jacket on...cool. _

Sylvain yawned and headed out for the last time. Remaining elven artifacts aside, he was no longer Tinsel the elf--he was Sylvain Jose Gautier, the guy who disinherited himself and who doesn’t use his liberal arts degree for anything. Somehow, it felt good.

When he got off the train at his stop, he already knew his destination. If he knew Glenn--and, quite honestly, he had known Glenn as long as he had known Dimitri, Felix, and Ingrid, even if he always seemed cooler and older--he was probably also closing early. Felix tried to get out of family Christmas, but considering he worked for his brother, he was going to be roped into visiting his father. Unlike Sylvain, though, Felix had more or less reconciled with his father back when they were in college.

“Oh, I’m good,” he said to himself as he approached the shop.

Both brothers were outside the darkened storefront. Glenn was wearing another hideous confection of a Christmas sweater and Felix had on his typical, fake shearling coat.

“Hey, hey,” Sylvain greeted. “Closing early?”

“Do you have to wear that home from work every night?” Felix asked crossly.

That wasn’t anything new. Greetings and formalities were too much for him, it seemed.

“I actually do,” he said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to roll sweaty tights down your legs?”

Glenn snorted a laugh. He shot his gaze between them and a sly smile skittered momentarily onto his face.

“I’ll catch you later,” he said. “Fee--I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for an answer and just made himself scarce. Sylvain was alone with Felix. He thought back to the night he walked him back and every little moment before in college and beyond. Every time he did or said something deliberately to get a little smile from him.

“Let’s walk somewhere,” he said.

“I don’t want to be seen with you dressed like that.”

“Then we’ll stop at my place first. C’mon.”

Felix pulled a face, but he still fell in step with him.

“How was it?”

They stopped to wait for the crossing light. Sylvain normally didn’t give a shit, but the roads were icy and he didn’t trust cars to stop while he was jaywalking.

“How was what?”

“The whole...elf thing.” Felix gestured at his outfit.

“It was okay. A bit repetitive. A lot of cute kids, though.”

The light turned and they were able to cross. The street felt oddly deserted, like they were alone and isolated from the world. Everyone else was either still at work or safely in their houses.

“What job are you getting next?”

Sylvain shrugged. “Who knows? I’ll figure something out.”

“You always do.”

Somehow, this was said without Felix’s usual attitude. Sylvain stopped on the sidewalk to look at him.

“What?”

_ And it’s back. _

He didn’t mind it, though. He liked Felix’s prickles.

“Just...did you ever think about us?”

“I’m surprised you’re asking now.”

Sylvain shrugged.

“I’m always thinking about it, but I’m just. I dunno. Maybe being forcibly jolly for the past month and a half made me want to see if you felt the same way.”

Felix eyed him a bit suspiciously. He reached up to tug on the hair that stuck out of his knit hat--a sure nervous tic.

“I don’t not think about it.”

He turned and continued walking. Sylvain caught up to him as best he could with how sore his feet were.

“So what’s that mean, Mr. Double Negative?”

Felix stopped under a streetlight, the soft light of it haloing him.

“It means…”

He drew in a deep breath and puffed it out visibly. Felix’s tongue was sharp, ready to deliver barbs, it wasn’t suited to emotional talk. Sylvain got that, too, along with his prickles.

“I think I got it.”

Sylvain drew a little closer to him. Felix didn’t shy away or resume walking again. He looked up at him, wisps of blue-black hair fluttering around his face in the chilled wind. He leaned down and pressed his lips against his. It was just the briefest brush, to see if Felix wanted the kiss. Sylvain went to pull back but Felix seized his face between his freezing cold hands--and, really, why wasn’t he wearing gloves?--and brought their mouths together. Sylvain wrapped his arms around him reflexively and pulled him tight.

When they came up for air, Sylvain glanced up to the sky. It was bloated and purple and full of noxious gas, but snow was beginning to fall.

“Snow on Christmas,” he said. “Kinda picture perfect, right, Fee? You spent all that time avoiding Christmas and here we are in the biggest, Hallmark movie-est cliché of them all.”

Felix, still in his arms, pinched Sylvain’s thigh through his striped tights.

“Shut the hell up, Gautier.”

**Author's Note:**

> also i am on [twitter](http://twitter.com/smugsnail) as well!
> 
> thank you, cha, for organizing this incredible event!!


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